


By the Chimney With Care

by BroadwayBaggins



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Childhood, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/pseuds/BroadwayBaggins
Summary: A glimpse into five childhoods and five Christmas stockings.





	

_A glimpse into five childhoods, and the contents of five Christmas stockings_.

Mary Phinney is eight years old when she comes down with scarlet fever the day before Christmas Eve.

It is a mild case, the doctor says, dosing her with camphor and telling her to rest. She will be well in a few days, if she heeds the doctor’s orders, and while her older brother Joshua has had the illness and is immune, her sweet younger brother is quarantined away from her, for he is only five and has never been exposed to scarlet fever before. Mary must miss everything, the hanging of the stockings, the carols by the fire, the sweet gingerbread and warm mulled cider, and as Christmas Eve wears on and no one comes to check on her she begins to worry that her family has forgotten her. Hot tears slip down over scarlet cheeks, and she clutches at the coverlets and tries to choke down her sobs, because she is eight years old and a big girl and mustn’t cry, she must be brave like Mama told her, she must lie quietly and rest and if she is good, when she wakes up she will find that Father Christmas has not forgotten her.

It takes Mary ages to fall asleep, long after her brothers are tucked away in their own beds and she is left by herself with only the old gray cat for company. She wakes late Christmas morning, the noon sun streaming into her attic room, and blinks sleepily for a moment before she realizes that she is not alone.

“There you are. I thought you’d sleep the day away!”

Oh, how happy Mary is to see her Joshua standing there, and Mama beside him, with Papa no doubt downstairs keeping the baby occupied. Mama checks Mary’s throat and feels her forehead for fever, and pronounces her much better. “You must rest a while longer, and if you feel up to it you may join us for Christmas dinner.”

Mary nods, her eyes shining, “Did Father Christmas forget me?”

Joshua, so much bigger than her at twelve, opens his mouth, but Mama cuts him off. “See for yourself.”

From behind her back Mama pulls out Mary’s little red stocking, bursting with peppermint sticks and the missed gingerbread and, at the bottom, a bulge that  must be an orange. Mama grins and hands it over, but stops Mary before she can dig in. “But Father Christmas said you must wait until you’re well before you at them, or else they might make you worse.”

“It’s not so bad, Maisie,” Joshua says, bringing back Mary’s old nickname when he sees the way her face falls. “Yours will last longer than ours this way, and we’ll be so jealous to see you still enjoying your treats in January.”

Mary nods, and her mother winks at her and looks down at the stocking. Mary reaches in once again, past the candy, and cries out in delight when she pulls out the last gift–a small rag doll, smiling up at her with her face made of yarn, her cloth arms reaching out for a hug from Mary.

“But this, you may enjoy right now,” Mama says softly.

* * *

 

Samuel Diggs is ten years old and bleeding from a cut above his eye when he comes home the day before Christmas. Momma had sent him to the market to get some more flour for the biscuits, and he’d been unable to keep himself out of trouble. He trudges through the snowy streets, his head down, unwilling to face Momma with the sight of her boy battered and bruised, _and_ no flour. He suspects he’s already in hot water already, for his sister Esther had ran for home the minute the fight broke out, but still, Samuel has no desire to hasten his return home and his inevitable scolding. He will take his chances in the snowy streets of Philadelphia.

However, it is not Momma who awaits Samuel in the doorway but the doctor himself, and Samuel’s shoulders slump even farther. Disappointing Momma is one thing, but him…Doctor Berenson is a good man, a gentle man, the closest thing to a father that Samuel has, the only person who believes that he will one day make something of himself–his mother hopes, of course, but has seen and known too much to truly believe–and Samuel cannot bear the thought of letting him down. 

“Your sister came home an hour ago,” he says gently. “Would you care to tell me what took you so long?”

Samuel mumbles under his breath.

“What was that?”

“No sir.”

Doctor Berenson looks at him a while, then settles himself down onto the porch steps. He pats the empty step next to him once, but Samuel does not come.

“Esther said those Clancy boys were giving you trouble again. Why do you give them what they want by showing it bothers you?”

“It wasn’t me they were after, Doc, it was Esther. They made her cry.”

“Yes, she didn’t mention that, but it was obvious.”

“They said…” Samuel closes his eyes, then winces at the sudden flash of pain. He will have to let the doctor see to his eye at some point. “They said that Santa Claus only comes to the houses of the white children. They said that Esther will get no presents tomorrow morning, because of her color. She looked so sad. I couldn’t…”

He looks up to find Doctor Berenson frowning. “You don’t believe that’s true, do you?”

He shrugs. “Dunno, sir. But I couldn’t let them ruin Esther’s spirit like that.”

“No, you could not.” He sighs. “Come, Samuel.” He examines Samuel’s cut as he speaks, his hands gentle but insistent, expertly trained. “Now, I’m  no expert. But I’m given to believe Santa Claus gives presents to the boys and girls who are good, regardless of their color.”

“And fighting the Clancys, that was bad?”

He pauses. “Misguided, perhaps, but not bad. We will have to wait and see. But I think Santa Claus takes into account the reason why we may do some things that are bad. You were standing up for your sister. That’s got to count for something.”

And on Christmas morning, when Samuel and Esther wake to find oranges and lemon drops and a set of jacks and a coin each in their stocking, Doctor Berenson catches Samuel’s eye, and smiles.

* * *

 

Anne Hastings is seven and scrawny and hates Christmas, hates everything to do with it, and she doesn’t care who knows it. What is Christmas but another day of endless cold and damp, with nothing to look forward to but the same bowl of lumpy porridge as every other day? There are no presents destined for the Hastings’ little flat in London’s East End. Father Christmas–ha! Anne Hastings is no fool. Father Christmas doesn’t visit the good children. He visits the rich ones, she’s certain of it.

Mum comes home from the mill late and Dad stays at the pub, leaving Anne and her sister Jenny to huddle in their little cot for warmth. Two tiny stockings are hung by the fireplace, but they are more of Jenny’s sake than her own–Anne is too smart for such things. Before she falls asleep, she slips out of bed–Jenny immediately curls into the warm spot Anne left behind–and tucks two peppermint drops into Jenny’s stocking. Her sister is the good one, after all–she deserves something on Christmas, and it looks like Anne is the only one who is going to give it to her.

She wakes early on Christmas morning to build up the fire, scraping away the ice that has formed on the windows and looking down on the city below. She can hear Dad’s loud snores from the big room and Mum’s wheezes–that cough in her lungs will not go away. She pokes at the fire and rubs her chapped hands together, feeling miserable and wretched and–

“Annie, look!”

Jenny is sitting up in bed and pointing towards the hearth excitedly, her eyes bright with wonder. Anne turns and gasps at the sight–two pieces of fresh bread, dotted with raisins and currants, sticking out of the tops of both little stockings. They are warm and still fragrant and the sight of them makes her mouth water, and as she and her sister race toward them, Anne begins to wonder if there really is a Father Christmas after all. 

* * *

 

Jed Foster is thirteen and far too old for Christmas in his opinion, but as the oldest cousin it is his duty to supervise the little ones as they hang their stockings. The entire Foster clan has gathered on the Chesapeake for the holiday, Father’s two sisters and all of their children, ranging from thirteen (Jed) to four months (baby Polly, who is already tucked away in the nursery). Games have been played and dinner eaten, and the hanging of the Christmas stockings by the fire is the last thing that must be done before they go upstairs to bed. Jed and Ezra and their cousin Eli will be sharing one room, and Jed is already certain that none of them will sleep tonight. But the little ones must, and Jed must be a good boy and help Nanny, so Mother said, and if he does well she may even let him have a sip of Father’s good Kentucky bourbon tomorrow. Next year, she promises, he will be fourteen and may sit with the adults, but for now he must help with the young ones.

So he helps pass out the stockings, helps disentangle those that have become jumbled on the trip and picks up the little ones so that they can reach to hang theirs by themselves. 

“Jed, I can’t do it!” Kate cries out, stretching her four-year-old body as far as it can go, and Jed laughs. 

“Hang on, Katie May, I’ve got you.” In one practiced swoop he picks her up and sets her on his shoulders, and she carefully hangs her stocking beside the others. All of the other cousins have already finished, and are either nodding off waiting for Nanny or eagerly talking about what presents they’ll receive in the morning.

“Where’s your stocking?” Kate asks.

“I’m too old for that.”

“No you’re not!” Kate protests. “You’re never too old! That’s what Papa says. You can’t be the only one without a stocking or you won’t get any presents?”

“I’ll get presents,” Jed tells her with her still on his shoulders. “They’ll just be from my parents.”

“Not the same!”

Jed sighs. Kate is sweet but stubborn, and he has a feeling she’s not going to take no for an answer. “If I hang my stocking, will it make you happy?”

“Oh yes. And hang it right next to mine, please. No, let me do it. That way you won’t be tempted to take it down!”

The next morning, the Foster children race downstairs and attack their stockings with glee–all but Jed, who is puzzled to see that his is no longer hanging next to Kate’s. A quick look around reveals that it has been placed on the floor by the fireplace, filled with the usual goodies plus something else–sticking out by one corner, far too big to fit inside, is a small beginner’s medical textbook. Jed quickly flips it over–his father does not approve of his interest in medicine–and scans the room for his uncle Robert, Kate’s father, a physician in Baltimore. He is standing next to Aunt Sarah with Kate in his arms, and as Jed catches his eye, he smiles and holds his fingers to his lips.

* * *

 

Emma Green is fifteen and her friends have just pulled her away from the dancefloor at her parents’ annual Christmas ball. It is the social event of the holiday season, attended by everyone who matters, and this is the first year that Emma’s dance card has been entirely filled up. Alice is no doubt sulking in a corner–she won’t be dancing much at all tonight, as she’s still only twelve and still a baby, if you ask Emma–but everyone else is enjoying the festivities and Emma thinks it’s the best ball her parents have ever thrown. The house is warm and filled to the brim with guests, Belinda and the other servants have worked so hard on the food and the decorations–the Christmas tree is a marvel of its own, and Emma wishes it could be this grand every year. Still, she’s thankful for the break from the dancing as her giggling friends tug her into a corner and press a cup of eggnog into her hand.

“Oh, Emma, did you see Charlotte Fenton’s face? She was so jealous that you danced with Frank _twice_.”

“Yes, I saw, and then she took her revenge out on poor Jimmy and trod on his toes. He’s still limping!”

“How lucky you are to have a beau, Emma! I wish Eddie would notice me.”

“Frank’s not my beau,” Emma tries to protest, but her look of pride betrays her. Nothing is official, yet, of course–they’re far too young. Still, it’s nice to be the girl that everyone envies.

“He is so! Don’t lie, Emma, it’s wicked. Do you think your brother will dance with me?”

“If he’s not sworn off dancing tonight already, then I’m sure he would. He’s always liked you–you’ve been a good friend to me. Good luck!” Anna shrieks with delight and floats away, making a beeline for Jimmy across the room.

“I swear, Emma, you and Frank will be announcing your engagement at next year’s ball, you mark my words.”

“Don’t be silly, Lizzie. We’re far too young. Besides, there are still plenty of other dances to be had tonight. I think your brother is next on my dance card?” But as John twirls her around the floor, all Emma can think of are the words, _Mrs. Frank Stringfellow_.

She doesn’t dance with Frank again–it would be improper, and her mother would scold–but as he is leaving with his family, he leans down and whispers in your ear. “Check your Christmas stocking,” he murmurs, his breath smelling of bourbon and peppermint. Emma waits until all the guests have departed before reaching deep into her red velvet stocking, pulling a handkerchief out of the toe. The handkerchief has been embroidered with Frank’s initials by his sister Julia, and as Emma unwraps it, a small silver locket nearly tumbles to the floor. She catches it and holds it close, clasping it around her neck where it rests against her heart–a promise, she decides, of what is to come.

She doesn’t know if she’ll be engaged by next year’s ball. She quite doubts it, actually. But one thing is for certain now–Emma Green does, indeed, have a beau.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stay as close to canon as possible, but I've obviously made up some siblings and cousins and friends here. Anne's sister Jenny is "real"--Anne Reading, the real life inspiration for Hastings, had a sister named Jenny who lived in New York and also worked as a nurse during the war. And I apologize for any errors!
> 
> Doctor Berenson, in the Samuel story, is canonically Jewish, as it was kindly pointed out to me. So I will add something that I meant to put into the story but couldn't work in without it feeling clunky--the presents in the stockings are actually from Samuel's mother, except for the coins, which are from Doctor Berenson. Money (gelt) is a common gift at Hanukkah, particularly for children.


End file.
